


Of Foods and Feuds

by elle_you_oh



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, Fanboy Phil Coulson, Maria Hill & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Philinda - Freeform, Roommates, Sneaky Nick Fury, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_you_oh/pseuds/elle_you_oh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where all the Avengers and Coulson's team work together at a fancy restaurant in New York, and Loki opens his own place, El Chitauri across the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The waiter’s lounge at SHIELD is abuzz with chatter as those working the evening shift wait for someone to arrive with their zone assignments.

Fitzsimmons are having a rousing debate about what exactly it is that Chef Rogers puts in his secret sauce recipe; Fitz is entirely convinced that it’s dried cilantro. Simmons has compiled a long list of possible ingredients; along with another list of ingredients they’re confident that the former soldier uses. They may or may not have been snooping around in the kitchens since last year’s staff dinner when they discovered that Chef Rogers had invented a sauce that went with any dish.

Mack is helping Skye as she fiddles with her phone, manipulating the scanner by the door for the third time this week, attempting to trick it into thinking that she had clocked in on time.

Ward’s somehow managed to steal a stack of plates from the kitchen, and is balancing them with both arms, picking them up and putting them down in rapid succession. They all recall him breaking at least a dozen last week after trying to balance two per arm, but he swears he’s being more careful now.

Bobbi and Lance are death glaring one another from opposite ends of the room again, and everyone is genuinely surprised they haven’t erupted into a huge argument yet.

Really, any little thing could set them off at this point. Or at any point.

Trip’s sure as hell going to stay clear of the blast zone when those two get it on.

The restaurant’s been closed since two after the lunch shift; and now, nearly four hours later, they’re ready to open up again. Ward’s hidden away the plates he hasn’t broken, and Skye’s finished tampering with the technology.

And just in time too, as the door swings open and one of the restaurant’s chefs and part-time manager, Natasha Romanoff walks in with a tablet in hand.

‘Ward, you’re up in The Nest with Barton and Vic.’

Ward looks impassive and emotionless as usual, but it’s no secret that he likes working the bar.

‘Fitzsimmons, you’re in zone 1, Skye, Mack, you’re in zone 2, Tripp, you’re in zone 3, Bobbi, Hunter, you’re in zone 4.’

Fitzsimmons share a hi-five, and everyone else seems happy enough with what they’ve been given, well everyone but the bitter divorced couple who are well, let’s just say less than pleased would be an abhorrent understatement.

‘Seriously?’

‘You have got to be kidding me.’

‘I can’t believe this.’

‘Nat, darlin’ please. Can’t I trade with someone else?’

Natasha rolls her eyes at her displeased colleagues.

‘Hunter, you know I have no say in the matter. Now get to work people.’

She leaves them at that, and they all begin to rise, straightening skirts and ties, smoothing out the creases in their clothing.

‘Doors open in ten.’

The voice of SHIELD’s assistant manager comes through the intercom and everyone’s filing out the door, ready for the night ahead.

* * *

 

The restaurant is crowded tonight, more so than usual for a Thursday night, especially this early on in the evening, and Pepper’s already had to direct several guests to a courtesy lounge until more tables free up. She sends an alert to Barton up in The Nest telling him to send Ward down to bring those who are waiting drinks.

There are gasps of delight and wonder and cheers coming from the far right corner of the restaurant as Thor sends his signature steak flying from the iron griddle onto the plate of a diner. Sif is working a second barbeque, using two large curved blades to slice up vegetables in rapid succession. The two are equally matched, both trained at Asgard, a restaurant in Stockholm owned by Thor’s father Odin, and have an ongoing bet on whoever will earn the most tips by December 31st.

It’s a friendly competition at heart; Sif won last year and Thor’s really had to up his game.

Translation: The pair are as much friends as they are rivals, and Sif whooped Thor’s ass year and he’s been planning to get his revenge since that day.

Thor has no intention of going to work in an outfit of Sif’s choice ever again. They still haven’t let him live down the pink bunny onesie that almost caught fire on the grill.

The sushi bar is by the grills and is equally as popular as the teppanyaki; Romanoff has a team staffing the bar, all experts at what they do. Trip’s taking orders and clearing plates, he’s no sushi chef but with his great sense of humour, he’s popular with the customers that frequent the restaurant.

There’s a huge kitchen in the back and it’s separated into several zones as well. SHIELD’s the first truly multi-cultural restaurant, and it has taken years to become what it is today. They serve dishes from all over the world, from good old fashioned American home cooking by Chef Rogers to Japanese style cuisine by the former employees of Asgard. There’s fancy European dishes by Romanoff, and Barton mixes drinks from all over the globe; he also does the kid’s smoothies and ice cream sundaes and the desserts but that’s not exactly public knowledge.

There’s an alert on the screen that Pepper’s monitoring; Thor has vacancies for three at his station, though she’s pretty sure there are over a dozen people who are waiting for a spot. Early last year they had installed technology to make things smoother for the staff; the grill and sushi bar have their own tabs, but the rest of the tables in the restaurant have a screen installed that lets the customers call the waiters over when they’re ready to order or pay the bill.

Zone 1 has several customers ready to pay, and it’s not that Fitzsimmons are slow; they’re probably some of the fastest waiters in New York, the restaurant is just ridiculously understaffed for an establishment of this size.

The big kahuna is extremely picky about who he hires.

Natasha is in and out of the kitchen, and Pepper waves her over after she directs another family into the guest lounge.

‘How’s it going back there in the war zone?’

Natasha smirks.

‘Like usual. Stark’s a pain in the ass but we’re running smoothly. It’s a full house out here tonight.’

Both women sigh, looking around at the fully seated tables and the staff hurrying around trying to serve their patrons faster so that they’ll finish eating and vacate for other guests.

‘You sure you can’t speak to Phil about hiring more people?’

Natasha shrugs.

‘You know how it is, he takes his orders from Fury, and that man never stays long enough for us to get past the formalities to make requests. Last I heard he was cruising around the Mediterranean posing as a food critic.’

They share a chuckle at that, and Natasha slips behind the front counter to take a look at Pepper’s monitor.

‘You should probably call Coulson and tell him it’s all hands on deck. I’ve got to go back and deal with your obnoxious boyfriend.’

With that the Russian leaves, and Pepper grabs a tablet from her left to message their manager.

* * *

 

The offices are located on the second floor, behind the bar and above the kitchen. It’s also where the waiter’s lounge and staff’s break rooms are situated. They have pretty decent facilities for their workers; SHIELD takes care of their own.

Assistant floor manager Melinda May has one of the offices furthest away from all the commotion. It’s secluded not only because of the distance but also due to the fact there is absolutely no reason for anyone to head down to the end of the hall unless they’re actually looking for her, Fury, who’s never at the restaurant anyway or Maria who doesn’t actually use her office.

She handles most of the administration from here, whilst Pepper does the face to face at the front desk. She checks that the reservations have been properly booked in, that the ingredients are stocked, arranges for deliveries and all the other behind the scenes work at the restaurant.

She’s just sent out for a delivery of new crockery; Bruce has anger management issues and inadvertently takes it out on their utensils, and from what she can see on the feed from their hidden security cameras, Wards been swiping them out for some balancing act he’s got going on.

She looks up occasionally to monitor the live feed as she checks the kitchen and bar’s supplies. They get fresh meat, seafood, fruit and vegetables delivered each morning, but the longer lasting and more durable ingredients are kept in storage and restocked at intervals of a week, a fortnight or a month.

Nothing unusual is happening in the restaurant.

Stark’s flicked something at Romanoff, possibly flour. Steve’s singing something, the audios switched off, but chances are it’s the star spangled banner.

They’re low on thyme and cumin. She hates dealing with the spice suppliers and is praying Maria will be in early enough tomorrow morning to handle them.

Nothing unusual is happening in the restaurant.

Stark is now nursing a bruised arm, Romanoff looks extremely pleased with herself. Bruce hasn’t erupted into an uncontrollable rage. Hunter’s flirting with a group of young ladies in zone 4, and she’s doesn’t even have to look to know that Bobbi is shooting him death glares from wherever she may be.

They’re running out of tequila and she’s sure she just fully restocked the bar last week. There’s nothing on the records to indicate they’ve sold that much alcohol since then and security hasn’t caught anyone trying to steal anything. She’d bet her month’s paycheque that it’s an inside job by Barton and Hunter.

Nothing unusual is happening in the restaurant.

Thor’s whipped out a giant hammer and is now tenderizing steaks with it, and all of the female customers within a 10 metre radius are watching him intently, and Melinda would be lying if she said her eyes weren’t lingering a little longer than they should.

There’s movement in the corner video; the camera is located in the back end of the bar and spans the hallway that leads all the way from the bar to down to Nick Fury’s office. It’s dark as always but she can see that someone is walking down the hallway now. If they’re looking for her, the door’s open, so she just goes back to her work and waits for them to get here.

There are a series of knocks on her door, and from the pattern and strength, she can tell its Phil even before she looks up at him.

He’s standing in the doorway, in his suit as usual, but he’s swapped out his usual tie for a grey bow tie, there’s a bag in his arms and she knows exactly what this means.

‘You’re seriously asking me go out there again?’

He’s smirking as he enters the room and drops the bag onto her desk.

‘I’m not asking. Get changed and meet me at the front in five.’

She sighs and picks up the bag, and she can feel the smile on his face as he leaves her office, closing the door behind him.

* * *

 

Phil’s chatting with Pepper about a party she and Tony are hosting in a couple weeks’ time. The restaurant is closed a couple of evenings a year, and they’re taking this chance to have an entertaining evening off.

May’s weaving her way through the tables; she’s changed into a unique version of the staff’s uniform, a silver short sleeved blouse with an eagle pin and a black knee length skirt with a white apron to tie it all off.

She’s frowning as she approaches and Phil just smiles at her and she rolls her eyes at him when she reaches the front desk.

‘Zone 1’s the busiest, and one of us should probably go to zone 4 so we don’t get a repeat of last Monday,’ Phil tells her, handing over an electronic pager.

She clips it onto her apron and begins to head towards the kitchen.

‘I’ll take Fitzsimmons, you can handle your problem. You caused it.’

Phil looks affronted as Melinda leaves, and turns to Pepper.

‘I’m just trying to teach them the value of team work,’ he says with a sigh, clipping his own pager on, and heading over to where Hunter and Morse appear to be having a death glare match.

It’s going to be a very long night.


	2. Chapter 2

‘Good evening, I’m Skye and I will be your server for tonight. When you are ready to order, please use the touch screen in front of you, and I will be with you shortly.’

Skye plasters a smile on her face at the family of three, repeating the rehearsed lines that were drilled into her during orientation and training. She’s pretty sure they came up with it back in the day, and that Pepper has just altered it for ‘modern times’.

It’s nearing ten; they’re not letting any more customers in for the evening, and the restaurant is finally beginning to quieten down and empty out. The guest’s lounge is now silent as well, which means that they’re all nearly done for tonight.

Fitz is serving a group of young females, all in formal wear, not uncommon for many of their guests. He’s carefully setting their main courses down in front of them, and is about to ask them if they need anything else when the brunette with heavy make-up grabs his sleeve and flashes him a grin.

‘So, Fitz is it? Is there any chance we could personally give our compliments to Mr. Stark.’

She’s batting her lashes, and the rest of her friends are also smiling up at him.

Fitz groans internally at his misfortune.

Tony Stark appeared as an Iron Chef for several seasons a few years back on the cooking competition series. Because of his egotistical nature, Tony persisted at making himself unique from the other Iron Chefs and eventually came up with another one of those so called brilliant ideas of his.

‘I am an Iron Chef, but I’m just a man. I guess you could say I’m an Iron Man.’

He’d said it an interview. Or ten.

Since then, SHIELD has had to deal with fan girls desperate to meet the elusive Iron Chef, Iron Man.

For some unexplainable reason, they’d always seem to dine in the zone that Fitz was assigned to.

This was the fourth time this month.

The fact that Tony loved the attention almost as much as the source of said attention loved him did not help to assist in the smooth running of the restaurant.

Despite always falling victim to these circumstances, Fitz still had no idea how to deal with these situations, freezing up and panicking. He doesn’t know how to respond, and probably looks ridiculous, unmoving, until a hand grabs his other arm and May’s there behind him, unimpressed.

‘Go,’ she says in a hushed whisper, clearly annoyed, and just that one word coupled with the frown she was wearing is enough to send him running.

It was no secret that of the three members of the restaurant’s management team, May was the most intimidating. Whilst all three seemed to be able to watch their every move without the turn of a head and appeared out from nowhere all the time, Melinda May hardly made a sound a majority of the time, and communicated mainly through eye rolls, eyebrow raises, glares and sighs. Which was what made it increasingly creepy when she worked the floor with them, because she morphed into a completely different person.

Fitz has now made his way across to the other end of Zone 1, and is watching May with cautious glances. He’s trying to make himself useful by helping Simmons, but the rest of their zone has mostly cleared out, so they’re almost done for the evening. They’re collecting the dirty dishes from the empty tables as May chats with the women; she’s smiling and laughing at whatever they’re saying.

There’s a particularly loud peal of laughter, and Simmons looks over with wide eyes as Fitz scratches his head, his jaw slackened.

‘That’s very alarming.’

* * *

 

Phil is in the kitchen setting down a load of used cutlery. He may or may not have been lingering a little longer than necessary because Chef Rogers is quite possibly the most renowned chef in the field of American cuisine, and Phil’s kind of a fan.

It’s not creepy.

It isn’t as if staying to watch Chef Rogers hinders the restaurants process in any way. They’ll close in a little less than an hour, and Zone 4 is just about empty now. He had sent Hunter up to the bar to help Barton out, in order to prevent World War III from breaking out whilst he wasn’t keeping an eye on the two feuding ex-lovers.

He’s still slowly putting the dishes down into the area marked used, sneaking glances to where the former soldier is deep frying something in a pot with high sides.

It’s not creepy. No, not creepy at all.

There are usually at least two dozen apprentice chefs dashing about, along with several assistants and cleaning staff, and if were not for the size of the kitchens, it would most definitely be crowded and there would certainly be more accidents. Romanoff has hopped up onto the bench next to Steve Rogers, beginning a conversation with the man, and is directly blocking Phil’s view; he’s a little sad at that.

Okay, maybe it’s a little creepy, just slightly, but everyone needs idols in their lives and Phil just so happens to be lucky enough to work alongside his.

‘What about that pretty blonde that lives next door to you? She’s nice right? I don’t actually know her name, because she’s your neighbour and not mine, but I’m sure I can arrange something for you.’

She’s badgering him about his dating life again; from what Phil has picked up from snippets of conversation and gossip around the restaurant, Natasha has set Steve up on several blind dates this year alone.

‘Shouldn’t you be working?’

He hands her a piece of fried something that has been cooling off to the side and the two continue their conversation after she gives him the nod of approval. Phil hears Natasha shoot off a plethora of female names whilst Steve says something about how she should go and bother Barton, and that if she’s that intent on planning dates she should plan them for herself.

At least that’s what Phil imagines they’re saying, or is he replaying a conversation he overheard last week? He doesn’t really know, he kind of stopped listening when May brushed passed him angrily a moment ago.

He’s watching as she marches straight up to Stark at the other end of the kitchen. Their backs are turned and from the voices of the rest of the staff around them to the boiling and frying and clanging of pots, Phil can’t make out what she might be telling the guy.

He figures it out pretty quickly when Stark calls for one of his sous chefs to replace him at the stove, and fist pumps triumphantly whilst sauntering out of the kitchen.

May follows behind Stark and gives Phil an annoyed look as she passes him again.

* * *

They’re finally closing for the evening and Skye is exhausted. The shoes that are a part of their uniform are practical but aren’t exactly the most comfortable choice of footwear in the world. She has a few minor burns from hot bowls and plates but that’s nothing new.

Evidently she took way longer to change than everyone else, because by the time she’s back in her every day wear, packed and ready to go, a group of her colleagues are sitting around in their lounge waiting for her.

‘Ready to go?’

Everyone is tired and they’re all thankful that none of them have a morning shift the next day.

Fitzsimmons actually prefer morning shifts because apparently, and Skye is quoting Ward here, ‘it reminds them of their homeland’.

SHIELD opens at 7 every weekday, and they have a full breakfast menu that reinforces the multicultural statement that they represent.

Aside from Natasha who is quite possibly the most insane multi-tasker in history, none of the big guns work the morning shift. Not Stark, not Banner, not Thor or Rogers. Of course there’s also no reason for the bar to be open that early, so Barton gets to have a sleep in as well.

Thor enjoys coming in to have breakfast there though; he really likes the coffee that they serve.

The kitchen is run only by a faction of Fury’s army of apprentices, and they only ever need a handful of waiters to come in. New Yorkers are too busy with their lives to stop and have breakfast, so they only have a small specific selection of guests, mostly vacationers and businessmen and women from the hotels nearby.

Skye’s got her keys in one hand and two bags in another, and they’re all leaving now. Thor is cleaning his hammer and Sif her knives as they pass the grills, and the tables have been cleared. Zone 1 is set up for the breakfast crowd, complete with white tablecloths and the breakfast menu, and Pepper waves them goodbye from reception as she shuts down the electronics and puts everything away.

They hand in their pagers and trek back into the kitchens where some of the staff are loading the dishwashers, others wiping down the kitchen area and mopping up the floors.The chefs have vacated the premises, and they quickly make their way through the kitchens and to the back door.

The staff parking lot is very small and reserved for the chefs and management. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner are sitting in a convertible, conversing about molecular gastronomy, most likely waiting for Pepper. Romanoff’s pride and joy is parked beside them and the motorbike in one corner belongs to Steve Rogers, so they’re probably still inside, but aside from that, the lot is empty. Everyone else has headed home for the evening.

Skye’s van is parked in the alleyway coming off the parking lot as usual, and she hops into the driver’s seat and starts the engine whilst everyone else piles in. Bobbi and Mack slip into the front with Skye, and Trip, Fitzsimmons, Hunter and Ward cram into the back. Once the back door has slammed shut, they’re off.

They all live in a building about a ten minute drive away from work, and all of them excluding Skye had walked or took a cab to get there earlier. But now the night is dark, and they’re all tired to the bone, so they carpool home in Skye’s van, because she’s rather attached to it and likes to drive it around.

Fitzsimmons and Skye share a two bedroom apartment on the seventeenth floor; Fitz has a smaller room because the girls share, and they only have one bathroom, but they make it work. Ward and Trip are actually right next door; Trip’s grandparents owned both apartments and he rented the other out to Skye when she moved into town. The others are on the twenty second floor. Hunter moved in with Mack after the divorce, and Bobbi kept their apartment because technically it was hers and she had paid for it before they were married.

Mack makes sure to stand in between the two on the elevator ride up from the seventeenth to twenty-second floors, because ten seconds are all it takes for a full blown argument to start.  

* * *

Phil comes in at seven - thirty on the dot the next morning. He’d gotten home before midnight, had a shower and gone straight to bed. And here he was, ready for another long day at work.

Normally, he would have clocked out at seven or eight, but they had a small team, so when work had to be done, even the manager had to go out there and do it.

There are quite a few customers already seated and enjoying breakfast, and he grins and waves his hand in reply to Thor who raises his mug of coffee as he sees Phil enter.

Maria’s working reception this morning, but he’s surprised to see that Natasha’s there too, also with a coffee mug in hand.

If he had to guess, he’d say that it’s probably spiked with Vodka.

‘Morning Phil.’

Maria is busy admiring Thor’s biceps and hasn’t even noticed that Phil is standing right in front of her until Natasha greets him.

He wants to lecture Maria on gawking at Thor, but she’s kind of technically the same rank as he is and she hasn’t said anything about his admiration for Steve, so he wisely keeps those words to himself.

‘Nat, your shift doesn’t start till eleven, what are you doing here so early?’

She and Maria have always been sort of de-facto younger sisters to him. Maria trained at the same hospitality academy as he did, and he had taken Natasha under his wing when she came over from Russia.

‘Maria needed a ride this morning because she’s a little hung over and I wanted to check on Mel.’

Phil immediately frowns at that. Why would she need to check on May?

‘Hey, I wanted to see if she was alright too,’ Maria adds, sounding affronted.

He’s thoroughly concerned now.

‘You were so drunk you passed out on our welcome mat and I found you lying there when I got home.’

‘Doesn’t mean I still can’t be concerned for the wellbeing of my friend.’

‘You didn’t even notice she wasn’t with me until after I detoxified you.’

‘Pouring ice cold water on my head does not count.’

‘Well you wouldn’t drink it so I figured osmosis might do the trick.’

Phil’s had enough of their petty argument and silences them with a loud cough. They stop bickering for a moment, just long enough to realise why Phil’s still standing there listening to them, and then subsequently interrupting them.

‘Mel’s still in her office, she told me she was staying back later to finish the order forms and budget reports, but she didn’t come back to the apartment last night, and I-’ Natasha begins to explain before Maria butts in.

‘- We.’

‘And we were worried, but I checked on her-

‘We checked on her.’

‘Fine, we checked on her, when we got here and she kicked us out.’

‘Apparently she wanted to work in peace.’

‘Said something about us being distracting to her work.’

‘And that we were annoying.’

‘I don’t think we’re annoying.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Phil, do you find us annoying?’

They look up at where he was standing moments ago and realise that he’s gone.

* * *

Phil has never been gladder that he gets along with all the staff here. Of course, they’re all nice to him because he’s their boss, but he likes to think it’s also partly because they like him for him.

One of the apprentice chefs slides the bacon onto the dish already loaded with eggs, toast and hotcakes, and Phil claps him on the shoulder and thanks him by name. He picks up the plate, cutlery, and a tea filled mug and hurries upstairs to Melinda May’s office.

He feels incredibly guilty that she had to stay back and finish administration work because he didn’t want to work the floor alone. Yes, it was all hands on deck last night, but he knows that they could have managed without her, and now she’s catching up on work and probably hasn’t slept all night and it’s all his fault.

She looks so, so tired when he enters the room, and Phil feels so very angry at himself. He sets the food down on the small coffee table in the left corner of the room, and walks up to her desk.

‘You brought me breakfast?’

She smiles a little smile, barely noticeable to most, but he sees it, and when she looks up at him, he can see just how drained she must be.

He gestures to the food and she rises slowly, putting one hand to her forehead and blinking hard several times as she makes her way to the couch next to the coffee table.

She’s still in the staff uniform that he had brought her last night, the apron is hanging on the back of her chair and her shoes have been toed off beneath her desk.

Phil is still standing there watching as she picks up the mug and drinks the tea with a contented sigh. She pats the empty spot next to her, and he sits down, still watching over her, making sure she finishes her breakfast.

‘I’m sorry I made you go out there last night. I know how much you hate it.’

She just shrugs and puts down the fork, taking another sip of her tea.

‘Whenever you need me, I’m here.’

He knows that she doesn’t just mean work. They’ve been friends for years and there’s no easy way to describe the relationship that they have.

They sit in silence for a while, and he’s about to say something else, to apologise again.

But she’s fallen asleep on his shoulder, and he’s perfectly content to sit there all day.


	3. Chapter 3

‘Phil, what happened to your suit? And where’s your tie?’

The afternoon shift is still more than an hour away from beginning, and Maria has already vanished off to who knows where, leaving Pepper to replace her at reception. As Phil approaches the front desk to put in the zone assignments for the upcoming shift, Pepper broaches him with the question.

His suit jacket is missing, and the sleeves of his pristine white shirt have been rolled midway up his forearms. His tie is also gone, and the top two buttons of the shirt have been undone; the last time Pepper had seen Phil dressed like this he had just broken up with his girlfriend Audrey, and Tony and Thor had insisted that alcohol would solve the problem. 

Pepper had to come by the bar at four in the morning to wrangle them home, and even with Natasha as backup it had been a difficult task.

Needless to say, seeing Phil in this attire was a cause for concern.

‘Just thought I’d change things up a bit,’ he responds with a small smile and a shrug, heading behind the counter to access the main computer.

Phil can feel Pepper watching him as he opens up the spreadsheet that tabulates the shifts each and every staff member is working. He’s entering the zone assignments, making sure to separate Hunter and Morse; Phil really doesn’t have the energy today to deal with those two.

‘Phil, you still haven’t RSVPed to the gala yet.’

He’s just finished up with the document and was about to leave, but Pepper’s intent on enquiring about his attendance at her function she and Tony are hosting.

‘Has anyone told you they were coming yet?’ Phil asks, giving her a pointed look.

These parties took place at least twice a year, usually at Stark Towers or Tony’s mansion, and the guest list was packed with state officials, businessmen and celebrities. Pepper had always been insistent that they invite the SHIELD staff also, saying that it was a nice way to celebrate their hard work.

‘Nick RSVPed two days ago,’ Pepper says proudly, and Phil can see why this is an achievement.

Getting Nick Fury to even read your messages was an almost impossible feat, and here Pepper had somehow gotten the big boss to reply to one.

‘Plus, I’m sending out a memo this afternoon to all the staff, making it a compulsory event.’

Phil groans.

‘I wish you’d give them a choice in the matter; your galas are not for everyone.’ 

He is genuinely saying this out of concern for some of his subordinates. Fitzsimmons can’t exactly handle their alcohol, he doesn’t want a repeat of their last New Year’s celebrations, and Ward is extremely socially awkward. 

And Skye, well Skye’s already come close to scoring herself multiple restraining orders from various celebrities she has managed to harass since being invited to these events. Needless to say Tony has had to send out some very expensive gift baskets to prevent lawsuits from breaking out.

‘If this is about Melinda, she’s already promised to come.’

Pepper gives him a somewhat condescending smile, and pats his hand as she says it. Phil’s almost surprised, until he realises who he has left out of the equation.

‘I'm wondering what Natasha has blackmailed her with this time.’

‘That’s mildly offensive.’

Phil and Pepper both swivel around in their chairs, and Natasha is leaning on the wall directly behind them, with an amused expression on her face as she munches on a churro.

‘Well?’

Phil’s waiting for Natasha to give them an elaborate description of how she had convinced May to make a public appearance at a fancy gala, and surprisingly, Pepper’s interest has been piqued too.

‘Wasn’t me. You should go and ask Maria.’

Natasha takes another large bite of her churro, the sugar crystals flying everywhere.

‘Where did you even get that?’

Phil’s brushing off the sugar that has landed on his pants.

‘Steve. He was frying up donuts for Bruce when I left him. Better question, what’s with the change in style? I preferred uptight ‘I always wear my suit even when I’m sleeping’ Phil.’

Phil is beginning to regret turning up for work today.

* * *

 

The bar is still closed at this time in the day, and it’s quiet and empty and peaceful up here. Phil’s leaning against the balcony looking down at the restaurant laid out below. They’re still closed for nearly another hour, but most of the staff have now arrived to do preparation and set up for the midday rush. 

Maria’s reappeared at the reception desk in the ten minutes since he had left, and Natasha’s probably back in the kitchen. Phil’s glad he dashed off when he did; Natasha’s ridicule about his ‘fashion sense’ was irritating enough, but the Natasha/Maria combination was known to drive even Nick Fury insane.

Thor’s begun to prepare his work space; two of the assistants that came over with him from Asgard are bustling around checking that everything is in order. 

Fridays are Sif’s days off, and Fandral has replaced her at the other grill. The two friends are riling one another up from their respective stations; no one wants to see Thor lose his bet to Sif more than Fandral. 

He’s planning to use the photos from last time on his Christmas Cards this year. 

Phil’s hand-picked team are just beginning to arrive; Fitzsimmons are overly prompt as usual. They’re carrying their uniforms with them, and collect their pagers from Pepper as they arrive at reception. 

Surprisingly the rest of the team follow close behind; even Skye, who hasn’t been on time more than a handful of times in the entire year. They’re all crowded around the front desk, and Pepper has turned the computer screen towards them and is speaking and gesturing with her hands whilst Maria watches on, clearly amused by the entire situation. 

Phil can only assume that Pepper is informing them about their compulsory attendance at the annual Stark Christmas Extravaganza in three weeks’ time. For what it’s worth, they all appear enthusiastic enough; except for maybe Ward, who looks like someone has just kidnapped his Gramsy.

They’re all heading up to the Waiter’s Lounge now, and Phil steps a little further back into the shadows so that they won’t notice him as they come up. He’s really not in the mood to deal with more ridicule about his change in appearance. They’ve passed him and headed through the doors when he pushes himself up onto one of the barstools. 

He’s once again enjoying the peace and quiet when a hand clamps down on his shoulder, causing him to jump nearly a foot into the air. 

‘I honestly thought Nat was either joking or exaggerating about the rolled up sleeves and lack of buttons.’

Clint Barton is sitting cross legged on the counter of the bar, looking zen as ever.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not judging. And I’ll say no more; but before that I’m going to be honest and tell you that I’m seriously tempted to take a photo and save it for a rainy day.’

He slides down off the counter and back behind the bar as Phil gives him an annoyed glare.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be getting the food ready for the lunch rush?’

Clint moves down to the other side of the bar; the dessert station, and beckons Phil to follow him.

‘I am now.’

He pulls out three different coloured hollow balls, lines them up with one end open and begins to fill them with cream, sugar and vanilla, whilst Phil follows up after and screws the lids on tightly. 

They quickly invert them and Clint dumps ice and rock salt into the other end and they double check that the openings are completely sealed. 

Phil sits back and watches as Clint carries all three of the balls in his arms and walks up to the bannister of the balcony, leaning over the side. 

‘Heads up!’ 

Natasha’s heading back out into the restaurant, and Clint hurtles the red ball straight towards her back.

In a flash she’s turned around and has caught it in both hands.

Giving it a couple shakes, she tosses it to over Maria who catches it with ease.

Taking a deep breath, Clint focuses his eyes on his target, and throws the two remaining balls straight at Thor who manages to catch one in each hand, before passing the blue one to Fandral.

All three balls are being tossed around and shaken; and Tony and Steve have come out from the kitchen to join the party.

‘You know, we can order perfectly good ice cream with a single phone call.’

Clint flashes a triumphant grin at Phil.

‘Now where’s the fun in that?’ 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Clint’s ice cream is all done; he’s once again taken possession of the balls and is beginning dessert preparations.

Phil’s gone down to the kitchens to do a quick inventory of ingredients. From what he’s gathered, May has already put in most of the orders, so they should be good to go, but he doesn’t want to take any risks.

They had let Maria do the checks last time, and due to mix ups that she to this day vehemently claims were not her fault, they had ended up with double the supply of corn flour and no plain flour.

By the time they had realised, there was an hour until the dinner shift and their suppliers couldn’t do a last minute delivery; so Trip and Mack were forced to drive out in Skye’s van to the closest supermarket and buy the flour in twenty five pound packets, and put up with Tony complaining about the quality – ‘You might as well have brought me a bucket of sand.’

Phil’s all the way in the back storage area of the kitchen, closest to Tony’s work space. The aforementioned chef is currently ‘supervising’ the apprentices whilst seated on the bench top of a stainless steel floating island.

There are a line of over a dozen trainee chefs working on the counter that’s situated against the wall to his right, all furiously kneading balls of dough.

Tony’s snacking on slices of pepperoni and olives from the trays beside him; and Phil quickly adds a reminder on his tablet to double check whether they’ve placed an order for pizza toppings in the last couple days.

Phil’s essentially hiding behind the racks watching as some of the chefs shape the dough into bread, others rolling the dough into pizza bases and some putting all their weight onto the pasta machine.

Stark had already done his fair share of mocking for the day the moment Phil had entered the kitchen from the back stairs.

The ‘Iron Chef’ had taken one look at Phil and said ‘I didn’t know we did casual Friday, might have to break out my Hawaiian t-shirt and hula skirt.’

Phil moves past the shelving and through the next area where Bruce is experimenting with a new recipe. He watches cautiously; because Bruce has been known to have blown up his fair share of ovens and stoves, and his last assistant had lost his eyebrows after standing a little too close to the blast zone.

Chef Rogers is preparing ingredients with a few of Fury’s newest recruits; it’s tedious and boring work that anyone could do, but he’s quite happy to help out with the grunt work.

Phil’s sort of watching him again, this time from between the cocoa powder and nutmeg.

Steve is this generation’s Chef of America; adopting the name from those that had come before him, all trainees of Chef Erskine.

He’s also the last in the line, because his teacher had passed away shortly after Steve had finished his training. With absolutely no skill in the kitchen before his apprenticeship; the elderly Chef had taken him in and taught him everything he knew today.

Of course; this is all just from the blurb of his cookbook, Cooking with the Captain, dedicated to his former mentor. Not that Phil would know; it’s not like he has a copy. It was limited edition, and published before Chef Rogers started working at SHIELD.

He’s tried looking for it on eBay, but no such luck.

‘Mandy Summers.’

Phil moves over a little and peers out from behind the spice rack at Natasha who has just strode triumphantly into the kitchen, straight towards Steve who has finished up with an entire tub of potatoes.

Maria’s following closely behind her and when they reach the sink where Steve is standing, she easily hops up onto the counter beside it.

Phil wonders if they clean those counter tops enough, with all the staff constantly sitting around on them.

Natasha thrusts a photo into Steve’s face; and from the brief glimpse that Phil manages to catch of it, it’s a young woman with light coloured hair.

‘What?’

‘I found you a date for Pepper’s party.’

Steve sighs and Natasha looks smug, and Maria looks amused, but neither more so than usual.

‘Why are you showing me a giant blown up photo of her face?’

‘It’s her head shot.’

‘Why on earth do you have her head shot? Where’d you even find her?’

‘She’s a model, goes to our gym. Come on Steve, she’s nice. Give it a chance.’

Phil’s witnessed this scenario a couple times before, and knowing Natasha, they’ll all probably get to meet Mandy in a couple of weeks, and then never see or hear of her again.

It’s all quite predictable, until the moment it isn’t.

‘I already have a date for Stark’s gala.’

Phil’s jaw drops all the way to the ground, and if he and Natasha were standing opposite one another, they would almost resemble mirror images. Maria’s eyes are bulging right out of their sockets.

‘Since when?’

Unfortunately for Steve, Natasha makes a quick recovery and begins badgering him one more.

‘I asked her several days ago.’

‘You asked her?’

Natasha’s narrowing her eyes at him, clearly suspicious.

‘Of course, it’s a gentleman’s job to ask the lady.’

She frowns, folding the photo she had brought with her into two and tucking it under one arm

‘You don’t have a social life-

‘Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?’

‘It’s true Steve, don’t deny it.’ Maria chimes in to the conversation, watching him closely.

‘When you’re not at home, you’re here at the restaurant-

And a light bulb appears to go off in Natasha’s head as her eyes widen and she snaps her fingers together making a loud clicking sound.

‘She must work here at the restaurant. That must be why Pepper didn’t mention you having a plus one, because she’ll be there anyway.’

Even from the distance Phil can practically see the cogs turning in their heads. He admits he’s curious too. They don’t have very many female employees at SHIELD, and Phil can count those that interact with Chef Rogers often enough to warrant a non-work related conversation on two hands. 

Of course Pepper has Tony and Natasha has Clint, and Victoria hasn’t gone out with a man since hospitality school, so he’s pretty sure she doesn’t swing that way.

Sif and Thor and the gang from Asgard always go to these things together; and Phil really doesn’t see Steve asking a member of his little team out because Fitzsimmons are inseparable, Skye scares the crap out of everyone and the whole Bobbi and Lance situation would just make it uncomfortable anyone within a ten foot radius.  

Phil makes a mental reminder to tell Pepper to keep them seated as far away from one another as possible if she doesn’t want the night to be ruined.

Evidently the machinery in Phil’s head is getting a little rusty because before he manages to go through the SHIELD employees that Steve could possibly have an interest in, he hears Natasha and Maria yelling tandem.

‘Holy crap.’

‘Oh my god.’

‘I can’t believe it.’

Phil’s confused, because of the whole rusty cogs situation, but Steve just shrugs and appears pretty pleased with himself.

‘You, the guy who hadn’t been on a date since high school until I started setting them up for you.’

‘The same guy who was so nervous when we met you called me Haria Mill’

‘You managed-

‘-to do the impossible.’

‘What on earth did you say to Mel to get her to be your date?’

Had Phil’s jaw been on the floor before, it has now probably dropped to the fiery depths of hell. He’s stopped listening now; consumed by his own thoughts.

Steve Rogers, his idol in the food industry and probably one of the best men that he’s had the opportunity to meet, is taking Melinda May to Stark’s Christmas Party.

Melinda May.

His best friend.

Phil’s kind of conflicted at the moment. 

He’s shocked.

He’s lost in his thoughts and doesn’t snap out of it until he hears Steve walk past him.

‘I like the new look Phil.’

Huh.

* * *

 

Phil’s escaped back to his office just as the restaurant opens its doors for lunch.

He’s way more exhausted than he should be for this time of day; he credits it to doing twice the work he usually does.

He’s double checking that they’re prepared for all of tonight’s reservations; making sure they have enough of the tables set for the larger parties and that they haven’t accidentally overbooked the teppanyaki.

Again.

His mind is fuzzy and he just wants to take a nap; between May falling asleep on him this morning and May agreeing to go with Chef Rogers to Stark’s gala, he’s developed an awful migraine.

The ridicule from all his co-workers about his missing jacket and tie aren’t helping with his mood either.

He opens a drawer and pulls out his tie from this morning; the one he had hastily taken off and stuffed in there.

Phil considers putting it back on for a moment; but then comes to the same conclusion he had earlier; he’d look even weirder with a done up tie and no suit jacket.

He swears he’s only closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opens them again its dark outside and his desk light is switched on.

He’s lying in a pile of paperwork and he feels a little warm because his suit jacket is back and is lying over his shoulders like a cape.

Phil’s tugging his jacket back on when he sees the post-it note stuck onto the top of one of his files.

_Just returning the favour._

 

 


End file.
